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Tuesday, 29 April 2014

Sometimes you cannot help
but be in a reflective mood when you sit atop some mountain with the breeze on
your face and the world laid out at your feet.The mountains tend to create a mood to reflect, plan or clear the
mind.It's the perfect location to
defrag the hard drive of the brain, but that said, it can also be something of
a melancholy experience.

The Picos De Europa

I met a friend I had not
seen for perhaps 20 years while on the hill the other day.We chatted about what we had been up to,
compared our ailments, discussed plans for the future and generally caught
up.When we parted I felt really
unsettled, almost a sense of loss.Not
for the loss of a friend, but of a lifestyle that has not just slipped away,
but simply stopped.

The year 1995 was a time of
wonderful "highs" in cleanest sense of the word.By that I don't mean the highs a drug gives
you, I mean those life long endorphin highs the mountains give you. The kind that leave their mark etched on your
brain.Of highs from mountains hard
won, from fears controlled and of friendships and hardships shared.

Of grand routes in southern Spain and Majorca in the spring, and of warm rock and the smell of rosemary and thyme in the hills.A time when you knew you were truly alive, not just existing.

Getting high in the cleanest sense of the word. The Espolon Central route Puig Campana, Costa Blanca Spain (I think)

Route Gubia Normal Gr3, St Gubia Mallorca

Happy

Of nights sleeping below
thousand foot faces with nothing but a bivy bag and a down jacket in order to
keep the weight down. Cold seeping into the bones, wishing the night away in
fitful dreams - half sleeping half awake. Who knows, but time passed as it
always has.

And when sleep would not
come lying awake staring at a billion stars, listening to the sounds of the
mountains, their dark silhouettes etched against the lightening sky. The purr
of the stove and endless brews, wondering if the others are awake.They usually were - well apart from Carl, he
always slept. Then still in the dark the act of forcing stiff muscles and cold
bones across to the base of the route.

Sunrise striking the tops,
but an age away from warming our bones, instead warmth had to come through
activity and those first few shaky pitches.Confidence rising as the sun line came down to greet us.Welcome at first, but with the glare from
white limestone it would soon become too hot.

Picos de Europa

The crux building in the
mind with each move, inching forward, the void dragging at your heels. Being
careful not to over-reach, use the feet, shake out the arms, clip the pro and
then it's done.

A few more moves and a
bomber belay awaits.Safety checks
done, toes on the edge, let the rope take the weight and lean out.Looking down hundreds of feet past unseen companions somewhere under the overhang.

More pitches, more laughter
and a pause for the odd photo.Now and
again a hint of fear as arms tire, or the sound of a falling rock thrums past
over to the left, followed by shouting in Spanish.A curse, or a warning perhaps, then more laughter - no harm done
- I wonder what the Spanish is for BELOW.

Pitch after pitch, nearly
three hundred metres worth, then the crest, easy scrambling and the summit
beckons.

﻿

Approaching the Summit of El Naranjo De Bulness (Pico Urriellu) Picos De Europa

Suddenly voices, French, Spanish and German perhaps. The summit - cracking
views and a little Madonna statue watching over us.Chatting with the other climbers in a mixture of gestures and
badly pronounced language, more laughter, some food and drink.Relax - but only a little because the job is
only half done.

Time to head down, time to
refocus.An un-roped scramble into the
amphitheatre, followed by tense abseils to the base of the route.

﻿

Nearly there, just about to
pull down the last rope and then an unmistakable shout in French from above
"ATTENCION".Small stones
clattering down, a moments panic.I
learn a new Spanish word "Va" GO and everyone ducks in close to the
rock.

Back to the bivy site, grab
some more food and drink and then the long, long walk back out in the afternoon
heat.A days rest and then do it all
again.I felt as if I was living my
life in HD.

Those were the last big
routes I ever did and two months later I was in hospital with a knackered back
waiting for an operation.It was
nothing to do with climbing, just a lifting accident at work that took it all
away. It was a lifestyle lost, but it still lives on etched in my mind.

Sunday, 13 April 2014

The Pennine hills have borne
witness to many stories of epic struggles, lucky escapes and of course
tragedy.These stories don't always
relate to hill walkers, or other outdoor enthusiasts and it may surprise some to
know that aviation plays a significant part in the history of these lonely
windswept moors.

The Pennines have always
been a place to fear for aircrew facing bad weather, or mechanical problems and
the remains of numerous aircraft that have failed to return to base are testament
to this.

I recently planned a walk to
explore the area around Castle Bolton and working on the theory that time spent
doing research is seldom wasted I managed to find out there were two such air
crash sites on the high ground to the north of the village.One relates to a Gloster Javelin Jet, which
crashed in 1959 and the other relates to a DeHavilland Mosquito
TA525, which crashed in bad weather in 1946.

My initial plan was to head
up Apedale and return via a track which runs from the mining grounds on Bolton
Moor back to Dent's house in Apedale and a further look at the map showed I
could take in the two sites with only minor detours.

This is open access land and
after making my way along Apedale via the bridleway I struck off over the moor
to find the general area where the Gloster Javelin came down.

Being a grouse moor you can
never be too sure of the welcome you will receive if you are spotted wandering
around well away from established footpaths, but a friendly wave and smile from
a passing farmer on his quad bike gave me a little boost of confidence.I know I have every right to be there but I
think I still have a few hang ups from all those years before right to roam
where people were regularly hassled by over zealous gamekeepers and landowners
who claimed that having people on the moors at any time of year (other than
them of course) harmed the wildlife.Years into the right to roam such opinions are now seen for what they
were - rubbish - and if anything the presence of the public is probably helping
the wildlife in that we can now see what goes on.

Anyway it was with thoughts
like this rattling around my head that I continued on my way.Weather wise while the sun was shining the
wind was pretty strong at times and on a couple of occasions I was blown
completely to a standstill.Fortunately
the wind unintentionally helped me and as I moved up towards some grouse butts
I heard the clack clack of metal hitting metal carried on the wind.After a bit of a scramble out of a deep peat
hag I spotted the wreckage scattered across the fell side about twnety meters
away.

A general view of the crash site with one of aircrafts tyres

This was the site of the
Gloster Javelin F.A.W Mk.5 XA662 of 228 Operational Conversion Unit which
crashed here 29th September 1959.The
story behind the incident is that the crew took off from RAF Leeming and while
over the North York Moors one of the engines developed a fault.A short time later the second engine was
also shut down due to a fire warning.Fortunately the crew - Flying Officer C P Cowper and navigator Cpt R E
Nietz successfully ejected from the aircraft and survived.

Engine Jet-Pipe

The wreckage is pretty extensive and spread over an area of around 200m.The engine jet-pipe is perhaps the largest visible component at around 10 feet long.

Close up view of the Jet-Pipe

Many components are partly buried

The occasional rattle caused by the two pieces of metal above that kept hitting each other in the strong gusts gave the place a bit of an eerie feel and after grabbing a series of shots I soon moved on.

Joe Bosher gives a short account of his role as a member of the RAF recovery
team here.

The second aircraft lay a
just over a kilometre as the crow flies on the other side of the hill, however
as I also wanted to visit some of the mine workings here I struck off across
the moor to have a look at these first.Unfortunately very little remains of these other than collapsed shafts
and spoil heaps and any photographic potential I thought they might have had
when looking at the map was pretty limited, especially so considering it was
midday and the light was rather harsh.

Heading south I soon came
across the shooting track which was followed for a kilometre or so to the area
where the second aircraft lay.Despite
only having a general location for the aircraft I soon found the site.

This and some more wreckage
further along the scar is all that remains of the De Havilland Mosquito TA525 which crashed here in thick cloud on the 14th February 1946,
killing the 27 year old Dutch pilot Sgt Gebines La Hei instantly.It is thought that Air Traffic Control had actually instructed him to
climb but he did not manage to do so in time.

There is no memorial here only a pleasant view down the valley and the sad realisation that in those conditions there was little room for error and he probably only had seconds to react.

Tuesday, 1 April 2014

While the weather was overcast it felt like spring had arrived as we left the campsite at Gillside Farm and sweated our way up towards Red Tarn. The illusion didn't last long and once we reached the col before the tarn we were met by a keen wind and soon changed back into winter clothing.

Across the tarn the north face of Helvellyn with its large cornices looked positively Alpine and it did not take long for us to decide on a quick break to take in the scene.

Striding Edge on the left and Swirral Edge on the right, with Helvellyn in the Centre.

Our plan was to head up onto Swirral Edge and then enjoy an easy scramble onto Helvellyn. On the way up we met several people coming down who had abandoned their attempt on the summit because they did not have ice axes or crampons. Some even seemed surprised to find winter conditions up here! If you are heading anywhere in the Lake District it is worth checking out the Lake District Weatherline which provides a daily report on the conditions found on Helvellyn during the winter.

We soon made it onto the ridge seeking out the best scrambling to give some added interest. This was great fun and we followed the crest to get some shots which despite the hazy mist still gave a sense of exposure.

View towards Catstycam

Moira and Sandra on the upper section

Some nice exposure with Red Tarn below

Exiting Swirral Edge

We had a quick wander over to the summit, but after two busload sized groups turned up we plodded back to the Swrirral Edge exit cairn to have our lunch and watch a few lemmings without crampons, or ice axes gamble on a slide down to Red Tarn and afternoon spent with the local rescue team.

Looking along the cornice from the Swirral edge exit towards the summit

We then headed onto Whiteside and then down into Keppel Cove, before making our way back to the campsite via the high level path above Glenridding beck.

Last shot with the view across Brown Cove of Swirral Edge and Catstycam

About David

This blog is to share some of my outdoor experiences from the dark side of the lens.
On here you will find a mix of images from my personal and commercial image collections, as well as articles, gear reviews, news and general outdoor related content. My intention is simply to highlight the beauty and diversity of the natural world and to attempt to portray a little of what it means to me.
If you would like to see more of my work please visit my photography website: http://www.bluestoneimages.com/